My mum fancied Seve Ballesteros to death. It was the only time she'd ever watch golf, if Seve was playing. She thought he was gorgeous.

When I was a boy he was one of my heroes. He wasn't a conventional golfer – all fairways and greens and cautious play. Rather he was a swashbuckler. He had huge charisma. Whatever position he was in he'd somehow conjure up a magical shot to get out of it.

I first met him in 1999, playing in a pro-am tournament at Woburn before the British Masters. I remember seeing in the draw that I was playing with Seve; I had about 50 people asking if they could caddie for me, which was wholly unusual. Seve was in great form. Not necessarily in terms of his game – Woburn is a tight course, and Seve is pretty wild off the tee; he was forever in the trees. He still hit some incredible shots. He holed a putt that twisted left and right and up and down before dropping in. A monster shot, and he gave one of his typical celebrations – the big smile and fist pump. The celebration wasn't quite on a par with winning his first British Open, in 1979 in his famous blue jumper, but it wasn't far off.

I was fortunate to spend a lot of time in his company that day, and latterly I worked with him a number of times through the BBC. I wouldn't presume to claim Seve as a mate, but we got on well. He was a big Barcelona fan and would always want to talk about football while I would always want to talk about golf.

He was ill for a long time, having been diagnosed with brain cancer in 2008. It was a constant source of conversation in the game: how's Seve? People were worried about him. At big tournaments, especially the Ryder Cup, there was always an atmosphere, a feeling, a thought towards Seve. It was a difficult time in the game, especially, I imagine, for players who'd played with him, and his close friends, the Spanish guys, José María Olazábal in particular, after that amazing partnership he and Seve had in Ryder Cups over the years.

After he died, in May, we made a tribute film at the BBC. It was great to see new footage of him, and to hear all the stories about him, particularly from his caddies. He was so fiercely competitive, and always, perhaps, quick to blame the caddy – as most golfers are. Always better to blame someone else because confidence is everything in sport. But I think the caddies had a pretty tough time with him; that was something I hadn't realised before, that he could be difficult to work with.

But there were some terrific stories about him. There was once a kid at the side of the green, making noise, and Seve turned to him to say something like: "You're nervous? You don't think I am?" I thought that summed him up. It was a chastisement but done with great charm, great humour. That was Seve.

I spoke to him on a few occasions before his death. I interviewed him on the phone for the BBC a couple of years ago about his illness. He wanted to raise awareness about brain cancer, and it was a very emotional interview. He spoke deeply about what he was going through, the mental sides of his disease. There were a couple of times when I struggled to speak. Later I called him in the hope that he might be able to come over to receive the lifetime achievement award at the BBC Sports Personality of the Year awards. He was too ill to fly. That would be the last time I spoke to him.

Seve was one of the absolute greats, a pioneering European golfer, arguably Europe's first superstar – someone who transcended his sport because of that aura that he had, that charisma, those incredible good looks. We've had great players in Europe before, and we'll have them again. But nothing quite like Seve.